


catalysts

by gudetama (elementary)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Animal Transformation, Caring, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Injuries, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Shapeshifter Newt Scamander, Shapeshifter Theseus Scamander, Shapeshifting, Violence, Workaholic Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: A chance detour on the way home brings Percival Graves to a river where he rescues a pair of stray kittens. It doesn't take long to adopt them as his own despite his efforts to remain at a distance; but soon he realizes that there is something more to them than meets the eye, something he can't quite place a finger on.And then one morning, he wakes up with two strange men in his bedroom, the kittens nowhere to be found.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hate doing summaries, did I tell you that. Actually have no idea how to summarize this without just telling the whole thing. Also, I kind of suck at tagging so please let me know if I should include/exclude anything else.
> 
> Anyway, here's a thing I've been working on for a while since the holidays and it's almost done! Was stuck on a part for a bit but big thanks to Alia for the help! If all goes well, other part should be up next week :)
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Totally forgot to include that this was actually inspired by [this video](https://www.instagram.com/p/BYe9K8EA0PM/?taken-by=thedodo).

It says a lot about Percival Graves that not a single person who comes into his office asks about the new changes to the place. Either that or they're completely blind, except they're not very subtle when they keep glancing at them.

‘Them’ being the two orange kittens currently napping on his desk.

At one point, Auror Johnson stares blatantly at them and looks to Percival, then back, repeats it twice, opens his mouth once, but still leaves without a single word.

The first person to inquire about them is Sera when he meets with her that afternoon, cradling them in the crook of his arm. An eyebrow rises in surprise but she resumes her composure quickly, as expected of the president of an American wizarding government.

They sit across her desk from one another, both retaining their silence in an unspoken battle of wills, but Sera eventually gives in.

“I didn’t think you were the type to pick up anyone except to spend the night with them,” she drawls, chin resting elegantly on one hand.

“We did sleep together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sera’s snort is not quite as elegant. “Don’t be crude, Percival.”

“You started it,” Percival retorts with maturity.

She raises a brow once more as Percival conjures two small bottles and starts feeding both kittens simultaneously. They drink silently, hungrily laying side-by-side on their stomachs in the cradle of his arm.

“I forgot how much you loved animals,” she says almost fondly.

“You would think I'd have gotten myself a pet as soon as I moved out,” Percival sighs. “I regret it a bit.”

“What are their names?”

Percival shakes his head once. “I can't afford to,” he admits reluctantly. “This is temporary until I find someone.”

Someone who isn't in a hazardous, overworked job where he barely has the time to care for himself, nevermind two other lives.

“On the contrary,” Sera smiles, “I think you should. Then you’d have some excuse to leave here on time.”

Percival frowns, biting back the honest words that he had hoped a wife or husband would be the one to ground him to a home by now. “I’m certain a pet is an unacceptable excuse, Madam President.”

“Well, I say so.”

“Sera—”

“ _Percival_ ,” Sera interrupts, “You’ve only been a director three years and somehow within that span you managed to isolate yourself from proper human connection outside of professional context. Not even forty and you’re already driving yourself towards a lonely, bitter life.”

“Thank you, you always have such a way with words,” Percival responds with a straight face, vanishing the finished bottles before gently lifting the kittens upright against himself to rub their bellies. He suppresses a smile at the protesting mewls. “Sentimental, much?”

“From a concerned friend to a sad one,” she says with an equally straight face. “I would let you keep them. Here.”

“I know,” Percival says, acknowledging her kindness. “But enough of that; I need to make some changes to the department and I’d like your input.”

The kittens burp.

 

 

Despite their conversation, Percival knows he won’t take them for himself. He can’t justify it. Harsh words they might be coming from anyone else, but Percival has always appreciated Seraphina's disposition for speaking the truth to him ever since their days in Ilvermony. And the truth is that this is his reality: his job _is_  his life, and he hasn’t the time or mind for anything else.

The second day gains more of a reaction from his aurors, as if what they had thought was an illusion yesterday is accepted as real today, hence the lingering looks and nervous smiles sent his way. They ask where he bought them and he answers ‘some generic pet store’ because he isn’t quite comfortable with letting them know he jumped into water when he saw the things trying to swim across a river instead of being logical and using his magic.

He has a reputation after all, and a bleeding heart for abandoned kittens isn’t part of it.

But he becomes an approachable attraction regardless, and hears them talking about how unexpected it is that he likes cute things. A clearing of his throat shuts them up and sends them hastily back to work.

A good part is that it makes it easier to ask if there are any takers, even if every single one of them reply that they need to ask their family/relative/significant other, the bastards. Surely at least _one_  person in this department lives an independent, adult life as he does.

Unfortunately, it’s a large department and he doesn’t have the leisure to constantly ask around and then a week passes.

The yet unnamed kittens are noticeably larger and it has nothing to do with Percival feeding them high quality foods. They trip over their feet less and recognize Percival by scent—which is a bad thing, he firmly tells himself—and more often than not are found being babysat by one of the aurors in his absence.

He still looks for someone to adopt them.

With even that preoccupying what little free time he has, he isn’t sure if he can be fully blamed for not noticing. But admittedly he had been getting a little attached to the furballs that have taken up temporary residence in his home, more specifically his shoulders, his lap when he's sitting. And well, attachment is blindness of sorts.

So begins the downfall of Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security.

 

 

Someone finally volunteers the next week to take them to a new home. Percival does a good job of not letting his reluctance show as he hands the kittens—now larger than his hands—over to Auror Perkins whose sister has revealed interest in adopting. She’s trustworthy herself, so technically Percival has no qualms about the new ownership.

In a moment of weakness, he thinks that he should never have brought them with him, that he should have dropped them off at a shelter or a hospital, and if he feels the solitude of his home after a late night the next day, that’s his secret.

He tells himself that it was only a few days, and it shouldn’t make a difference, and he shouldn’t be concerned when Auror Perkins shows up at his office a few days later appearing unsettled.

“They’re gone,” she tells him bluntly.

He doesn’t react—doesn’t ask who's 'they', doesn’t scold her as to why she thinks it necessary to inform him in the first place.

“I see,” is all he says, signing off on another paper and setting it onto the growing pile.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Percival raises an unimpressed brow. “They are undomesticated animals, Perkins. It’s something that could have happened anytime.”

The auror visibly slumps, downtrodden, and Percival’s heart twinges in guilt and sympathy.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he tries.

It isn’t what she seems to want to hear, and with a respectful nod, Perkins leaves the room.

Percival puts the news and exchange from his mind for long enough until he lies in bed with no other company than silence. It’s only in this dark, quiet place where shadows reside in the corners and silhouettes flicker in the candlelight and winds that he lets himself be honest: he worries.

They might survive, they might not; Percival knows cats are much more resilient than what people usually assume due to their size, as well as cunning and fierce. They’re hunters, survivors, and he has no reason to concern himself further regarding a couple strays. Which is apparently why he’s imagining the distant mewls and sounds of scratches against the door in desperate hopes that they found their way back to him.

Percival opens his eyes and sits up, holds his breath. Impossible—

He doesn’t _actually_  hear anything, but there’s some kind of presence nudging against the magic of his wards and he hops out of bed, summons his robe and wand on the way to the front entrance. It’s nothing malicious, that’s for certain, and the presence is so very weak.

With his wand at the ready, Percival opens the door.

Nothing.

Then he automatically looks down at the soft ‘plop’, finds a familiar kitten-pile at his feet. His breath catches as he watches them stumble the rest of the way to wind themselves at his ankles. The sight causes a chip in his carefully-built wall of neutrality. It's quite unusual that they found their way back here, somehow having established an attachment in that short a time to even recognize that he was missing.

All the more reason that they need to separate from him as quickly as possible.

But it's late and he's tired and he shouldn't stress the little critters any further after their no-doubt long journey, so he feeds them and lets them sleep by his head.

 

 

He returns them to Perkins in the morning, ignores her wide-eyed stare and the hushed chatter amongst the aurors.

“I suggest a barrier spell to prevent this from happening again,” Percival says. “You may not be so lucky a second time.”

“Right, of course, sir,” Perkins nods, then shoots him a grateful smile to which he responds by shooing her and the rest of the lot back to work.

A troublesome bunch, but good at heart. He shakes his head.

Despite his warning, the kittens do escape a second time some days later, and that's when he picks up on how unusual that is. Perkins and her sister would have taken his advice, and yet here they are again. He regards them carefully as they sleep, curled together as always, significantly bigger than the last time he saw them. A few diagnostic spells reveal nothing, but they triggered the wards again earlier, stronger than before, and he needs to know why that is.

On the outside, they look harmless (and cute), in need of protection. From his observations, they’re far more intelligent than he has initially given them credit for, have an unnatural growth rate, and seek his presence for some unknown reason.

Percival puts a tracking spell on them before bringing them back once more, so he isn’t surprised at all to see the balls of orange fur already waiting for him at the door the following weekend. They come to him easily when he bends down, climb up his arms and settle across his shoulders.

He’ll have to apologize to Perkins on Monday, and tell her to find another pet. There are some good, reputable places he can recommend, so hopefully it won’t be too much of a problem.

“I bet you come here for the food, you spoiled brats,” he sighs as he lets himself in the house.

As wary as he is of the unknown, Percival doesn’t fear them. Suspicious as they may be, they carry no ill will towards him that he can sense; rather, they’re quite affectionate when they want to be.

“What do you want with me?” he wonders aloud, watching over them as they eat.

If they were merely seeking a good home, any of his aurors would do which clearly that isn’t the case here, bit it seems he's worthy of them one way or another.

It gets a bit crowded on his bed but Percival’s fine with that

 

 

The murmur of voices nearby as he wakes has him stilling. Percival pretends to sleep while he makes note of the unwelcome change in number to his home—two at least, if the conversation he hears is anything to go by. Wizards? No, he doesn't sense magic, not really; but an energy of sorts, not the kind he knows, at least. The kittens aren't around—ran away, he hopes. After confirming that, Percival wills his wand to slide from underneath his pillow into his hand beneath the covers, curses inwardly at the sudden silence.

“I think he's awake, Thes, 's breathing different,” one voice says, male, light in pitch and cautious in tone. English.

“I've got this, don't worry,” says the other, also an Englishman, rougher, warm as he addresses his partner.

Well, he can’t let that happen.

A peek shows two figures by his bed and he starts by whipping the bedsheet towards them wandlessly— hears yells, meets a startled pair of green eyes just before the fabric covers them—and sits up quickly while shooting a disarming spell. He follows it up immediately with petrification and a binder.

The snarl from elsewhere warns him too late and the wind is knocked out of him by the tackle. A stray spell goes crashing into a wall, his knee connects with nothing as he’s pinned down on the bed— _strong_ , this rugged-looking man, ridiculously so, and Percival isn’t physically weak by any means—and a twisting, crushing grip on his wrist has him crying out and relinquishing his wand by force.

“Don’t hurt him, Theseus!”

“I’m not trying to, but he shouldn’t be attacking us, either,” growls this 'Theseus'.

Percival takes advantage of the momentary distraction to summon his wand again, panics a little when it doesn’t come. A look reveals the other man, now out from the tangle of sheet, holding onto it. Fucking—

“Look, mate, you need to calm down,” Theseus tries.

Easy for him to say when he isn’t the one trapped under a, well, admittedly handsome and relatively unclothed man; the possibility of his life in danger makes it difficult to appreciate it, however. Percival glowers up at him.

“Let him go, perhaps?” the other calls, coming over to them, and Percival tenses further because now there are two against his incapacitated self.

But surprisingly, the weight lifts off him and he scrambles up and back until he's against the head of the bedframe. The one called ‘Theseus’ crawls backwards away from him while keeping him in sight, perches himself at the other end of the bed. The other man—messy auburn hair, freckles, teeth gnawing on a plush bottom lip—rises from the floor until he’s standing.

Merlin’s balls, he’s trapped.

The one standing then slowly points the wand towards him and Percival braces himself until realises that it’s the handle directed his way. Without another thought, he snatches it back once it’s within reach and doesn’t show the same courtesy out of defense by pointing the tip forward at them.

The three of them stay in their respective positions at a standstill, although Percival has the distinct feeling that he’s the one at a disadvantage in spite of holding the wand. The two men share a look.

“Who are—” Percival starts at the same time Theseus goes, “So, this is—”

A pause, then...

“Awkward,” the third one remarks.

“Hush, Newt,” says Theseus, not taking his (bluer) eyes off of Percival.

“Tell me who you are and what you want,” Percival snarls.

He should attack again, but something stops him and it’s not only that he has been thwarted once already; something he can’t quite place.

“About that...” Theseus trails off, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“We’re your kittens,” this ‘newt’ pipes in.

“For goodness’ sake,” Theseus groans, hand covering his face.

Percival looks between the two, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Theseus shifts, then raises his hand in placation when Percival whips the wand towards him. “Easy, mate. We have something to show you; nothing dangerous, honest, but might be a bit strange.”

He moves from sitting cross-legged to kneeling as if in preparation for whatever he’s saying, but remains at that distance.

Though it doesn’t relax him, it gives Percival enough peace of mind to observe them closer. Their expressions don’t hold any sort of animosity; rather, they seem nervous for some reason as they carefully watch him. There’s a similarity between the two that indicates a relation, the newt appearing younger than Theseus. He’s also leaner compared to the well-muscled torso of—

“Are you wearing my clothes?” Percival asks incredulously, suddenly realising.

A pair of his pants are stretched tight over Theseus’s thighs, and his shirt loose on the other one’s shoulders but short at the arm, underwear hanging on narrow hips.

“Borrowed!” the newt hastily corrects, hunching in on himself. “Sorry, we went through your closet because, um, we didn’t think you’d, ah, appreciate the...” he trails off, waving vaguely at himself. “We can take it off.”

“Newt, for the last time let me do the talking,” Theseus shoots at him.

Newt must be his actual name, Percival absently notes.

“You scared him, Thes,” Newt retorts. “I don’t think he likes you very much.”

Theseus snorts. “Don’t be a brat because he gave me more scratches than you.”

What the _fuck_. Percival has had enough and he fires off a spell into an empty area which makes them flinch and stop.

“Shut up, both of you,” Percival snaps, “and _explain_  before I throw you in prison. Which I will do anyway because you’ve broken numerous laws at this point—”

“You go first,” Theseus cuts in, and Newt nods quickly in response.

Then Newt strips off Percival’s shirt much to his shock, makes him look away automatically with cheeks burning when the man starts reaching for the underwear as well. Percival’s head spins with the possibilities of why he’s doing this and Mercy Lewis, does he need to add another crime to the growing list—

“You can look now,” he hears, and no, he’d rather not.

He jolts when something nudges at his hand leaning on the mattress—something soft, furry—and there’s wet, rough scrape at the tips of his fingers. That finally prompts him to look and he sees a familiar orange kitten with green eyes blinking up at him. He lifts his head further and only his clothes remain on the ground where Newt had been standing, the man himself nowhere to be seen.

Theseus is grinning at him.

“Where—”

“Right there,” the man points at the animal now climbing onto Percival’s knees, claws pinching into his legs.

“What the fuck,” Percival says, because that can’t be. His hand moves by itself to start petting the kitten who nuzzles at him.

“Alright, it’s my turn,” and Percival turns away a second time when Theseus starts removing his pants as well and it’s public indecency, his mind yells.

But in the next moment, there’s another kitten, the other one with blue-tinted eyes also climbing into his lap.  His pants lay bodiless at the corner of the bed and there’s no naked man to be found. And all Percival can do is stare down at the felines who are showing their usual affections, mewling.

Generally, Percival is a quick-witted, relatively intelligent individual who can gather a reasonable amount of information from observing a situation and put the pieces together to form the correct picture. It’s one of the ways in which he is successful as the Director of Magical Security, and has gotten him out of danger more often than not.

Whether it’s due to the caffeine he has yet to consume this morning or the disorientation from it all, he’s missing something crucial about his current predicament. There were two kittens in bed with him last night, he woke up to them gone and two strange men in the room instead; now the men are gone and the kittens are back.

A story suddenly comes to mind; legend, more like, but it speaks of wizardfolk—usually dark in nature—who gained a transformative ability through unethical means.

“Skinwalker,” Percival breathes, heart pounding.

And before his very eyes, one of the kittens grows, _transforms_ , pushing the other off in the process and he finds himself with a lapful of a naked, human male.

“Oh, not quite—”

His hand moves first, fist connecting with the face in front of him, and Newt goes tumbling backwards with a cry. Percival only vaguely registers the pain in his hand, too busy processing what he just saw and severely startled to say the least. He’s brought out of his daze by a roar of laughter, sees Theseus who is equally naked and bent over laughing, right next to him where the other kitten would have landed.

Instincts kick in and Percival binds the both of them with a spell. He leaps out of bed and ignores the sounds of shock and outrage that follow him, locks himself into the joined bathroom.

He stays there for a long time.

 

 

“‘Shapeshifters’,” Percival repeats sceptically.

“If you don’t know, that’s fine,” Theseus shrugs. “Can’t say too much, sorry; we're staying low for the time being.”

He and Newt are both properly clothed this time (still in Percival’s clothing which don’t fit nicely), sitting across from Percival in the living room and complaining about the coffee he brewed them. They are no longer bound because Percival felt relatively calmer after an hour of questioning his eyes and sanity and everything else; but truth be told, it was that when he had exited the bathroom, he found them lying still in their captive state and pleading silently with their eyes, remarkably reminiscent of when the kittens would beg for food and treats. And they had not approached him without permission even after their release which made their intentions a little more believable.

And now, he’s having coffee with them; a pair of brothers, he just learned.

He doesn’t know much about skinwalkers—no one does, really—so he can’t say if an adult transforming into an infant creature or growing in size as time passes is the norm for such folk. Seeing as there are very few cases documented, he can’t determine whether they are one in the same or different based on Theseus’s claim alone. Considering their English accent, it can even simply be a difference in name and nothing more.

“Let’s say I believe you. So, why am I involved in this?” Percival asks not for the first time, eyeing them in turns accusingly. “I gave you away to someone and yet you kept coming back here. If your plan was to lay low, playing at the perfect house-pet should have been sufficient.”

“You saved us,” Newt answers, having spoken for the first time they started this conversation.

Percival carefully observes that the bruise on Newt’s face he didn’t mean to cause doesn’t appear as bad as it did a mere hour ago. Or he’s just seeing things out of guilt. Should he heal it or is that too shameless? And the better question is: why hasn’t the man done it himself?

Newt puts down his cup of coffee which had him grimacing this whole time and twists his hands together. “It’s—” he pauses—seems to do that often—looks up then back down at his hands. “It’s the safety with which we associate you. We were vulnerable back then, not up to shifting yet because—” He starts when Theseus clears his throat. “Right, anyway, you’re strong. Quite noticeably, in fact. And so very kind, adept at caring for animals.”

He says the last part so earnestly that Percival struggles not to flush in embarrassment.

“It was the best option for us in terms of security and protection while we were recovering,” Newt finishes.

“Still recovering, actually,” Theseus picks up from there. “I’m hoping you’ll be kind enough to let us stay a couple more weeks and then we’ll be out of here.”

Percival feels himself frown at the words, wary and uncertain of the request. It’s one thing to have them under his roof while ignorant of their true nature, but this new development changes many things. It sheds a new light on his previous interaction with them while they were only kittens at the time, and he can’t deny that there is some discomfort in his chest when he considers what they saw of him, what he had unknowingly shown of himself to another person. _Two_  persons.

“Percival.”

The low, gentle calling of his name snaps him out of his thoughts, and then he’s looking into an apologetic face.

“Hope it’s alright to call you that,” Theseus asks, waits for him to nod before sighing heavily. “I apologize. _We_  apologize, for having violated your privacy. We would’ve told you earlier if we could; there are reasons for that, but still... I realize what it must be like for you to think that you were living with two complete strangers these last few weeks without your knowledge.”

“Sorry, truly,” Newt adds remorsefully.

That’s... unexpectedly considerate of them to say. He’ll have to do further research on these ‘shapeshifters’ since the two here are reluctant to share anything, but Percival feels agreeable for the moment after having heard their apologies. It's not that he trusts them, but he figures they would have killed him already if they had wanted to given the many opportunities they had had.

“Alright,” he sighs, tries not to notice how they visibly perk up. “Just until you _recover_ , whatever that means.” Because they don’t look physically harmed in anyway (except for that bruise). “I have a guestroom that you two can share—”

“Oh, no need for that,” Theseus waves his hand as Newt shakes his head. “We’ll be in our other forms, mostly. Easier that way, faster recovery.”

“Clothes are not our thing, really,” joins Newt. “Feels like a confinement of sorts.”

Percival narrows his eyes. “You still have the room available to you, regardless. We aren’t sharing mine again, if that’s what you were intending.”

One of his brows rises when the two men visibly deflate, eyes downcast and shoulders drooping like they’ve been scolded. Surely they weren’t _actually_  expecting their previous arrangement to continue.

“But your pillow is very comfortable,” Theseus mutters.

“And you smell nice—ouch!” Newt yelps, glares at his brother who just elbowed him.

Theseus nods at him. “Other room, understood,”

Percival returns to his room after telling them not to touch anything or do something suspicious, whatever that may be.

After the morning he has had, he just wants to go back to bed and sleep through the rest of the weekend. That would have been an option if he didn't have those two out there wandering the house. His wards hadn’t barred them from entering before yet the binds worked, and he doesn't know why that is; doesn't know much other than that they can transform.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks with regret as he paces the room. He should take them to MACUSA and keep them in the holding cells until he can inform the President and question them further.

Decision made, Percival heads out again, wand at the ready.

The house is quieter than expected, no sound of activity whatsoever. He first checks the guestroom he offered, finds it empty, then makes his way to where he left them. The first thing he sees is his clothes folded neatly and stacked on the armrest of one sofa, then his eyes go to the small, orange-furred bodies on the seats. They’re curled against each other, relaxed in sleep.

Looks like they were tired, too.

Something in Percival’s heart tugs at the sight, unfortunately, having given some of his affections to these animals. He stops himself from reaching out to pet, pretends he isn't bitter with the loss of what he had considered enjoyable company.

Sera might think he likes being alone, but it’s really that no one has approached him with anything other than ulterior motives and he couldn’t keep them by his side after discovering that. He has a reputation to uphold and it’s easier to keep himself detached, not let emotion sink its hooks where it doesn’t belong. Yet for some reason, it bothers him that apparently, he can’t even find pets who don’t have hidden agendas.

He turns away and steps towards the kitchen, in need of more coffee.

 

 

They come to work with him on Monday morning after an uneventful Sunday that mostly involved Percival avoiding them other than to feed. He warns that it’s mainly to keep an eye on them and they dare not try any funny business with all these aurors around.

No, he doesn’t feel bad when they shrink in on themselves.

It’s unsettling in a way to know that the animals you’re talking to can actually understand your words, whereas before it had felt more like talking to himself.

Theseus and Newt remain quiet throughout the day on the sofa, not a single peep out of them even when his aurors drop by to play.

This goes on for the rest of the week, long enough that finally, one of the aurors ask, “Are they ill, sir? Perhaps you should go see a doctor.”

“Perhaps you should finish that report and have it on my desk within the hour, Kinney,” Percival replies.

That gets him out of here.

Percival sighs, glances over at the pitiful-looking, well, cats. They’re about the size of an adult, now.

“You two, I didn’t mean you should stop all activity. Acting natural also deflects suspicion,” he points out. “So do what you've been doing.”

And somehow to them that translates to immediately running over and leaping up onto his desk— _on his papers, damn it_ —to sit by his hand. Newt even nudges that hand with his head and Percival pets it without thinking. Theseus meows loudly as if in protest and pushes Newt out of the way.

It amuses Percival enough to snort, and he settles the matter by scratching both their ears. The sound of content purring fills his office and it’s almost easy to forget that they are something else under this appearance, that the past weekend never happened.

Almost.

But he finds himself a little more lenient after that, spelling them into his wards so they can move freely, giving the occasional scratch and petting and saying a thing or two when no one else is around. They lounge and stretch and yawn, patter around the room and climb his furniture, all perfectly cat-like.

One eventful day after apprehending a criminal, Percival stays late to wrap-up the case and finish his reports, sending everyone else home. The excitement from earlier in the day forces him to down more coffee and potions in order to stay conscious, but the next thing he knows, he’s blinking awake with his head between his arms on the desk, warmth radiating from nearby. He turns his head to see the two cats, one lying by his elbow, the other by his hand, dozing lightly.

He smiles slightly since they can’t see, wonders with a pang in his chest if this is what it would’ve been like if he could have this for real. Shaking his head, Percival carefully gets up so as not to disturb them, and coaxes Theseus back to sleep when he stirs. He casts a warming spell over them then goes to the sofa and transfigures a blanket for himself, decides to nap for a couple hours before finishing up the remaining work.

Percival dreams about the first time his father told him to throw out the animals he brought into the house when he was nine, and doesn't remember it after he wakes.

 

 

Some late nights are at home, at his desk in the study or the dining room, on rare occasions the coffee table in the living room; papers of research spread out across every available surface for a case or three or seven. His aurors are competent, but Percival is admittedly obsessed with details.

He starts bringing his work home after worrying more often than not that the cats might be uncomfortable sleeping in the office, thinking they shouldn’t have to suffer from something unrelated to them.

Not that he’s meant for sleeping atop hard surfaces, either, he thinks with a grimace at the crick in his neck. A potion relaxes the bunched up muscles in his shoulders and neck temporarily, but it can only do so much against accumulated tension and stress.

If he had known that he’d be doing more paperwork in three years as a director than in his ten years as an auror, he might have refused this promotion.

This report has been blurring in front of his eyes since the last five minutes and he read the same line six times already.

“Do you really need to finish that?”

Percival startles badly at the sudden voice but he manages to tamper down any embarrassing reactions like jumping thanks to years of honed reflexes. He slowly looks up to see Newt— _human_  Newt—frowning at him, and it’s almost surreal to see another person in his house at the moment, has him blinking dumbly.

“Are you wearing my clothes again?” is the first thing he says, then berates himself for the thoughtless comment.

It’s a clear sign that he is lacking sleep since his brain is no longer functioning.

“Borrowing,” Newt shrugs. “It’s the only thing we have on hand.”

His eyes are observant, keen on Percival as if searching for something, and Percival recognizes the same sharpness and intelligence from seeing them—both of them—everyday. This time, his mind has little difficulty associating the animal with the person despite his initial rejection.

“Look at you,” Newt mutters, frowns harder, then reaches across from opposite the table before Percival can even react.

Newt lightly brushes a thumb underneath Percival’s eye, and the touch of another is shocking to his system after all this time in absence of it. His breath catches and he almost wants to lean into the contact. He draws back.

Newt doesn’t follow, just takes his hand back; there’s nothing like shame or apology on his face, only that same frown. Instead, he tilts his head slightly and furrows his brows as if perplexed for some reason.

It very much resembles the cat.

“Stop bothering the man, Newt,” Theseus pops in, setting down a mug in front of him. “There you go.”

He really should get them their own clothes, Percival thinks, concerned for the seams of this particular shirt over Theseus’s torso.

The mug is filled with dark, steaming liquid that smells like coffee, but appears similar to the sludge they serve at MACUSA's cafeteria. Theseus looks eager for Percival to try it which he does, and thinks he may die from this toxic concoction. But when he asks how it is, Percival chokes out that _it’s fine, thank you_ , is strangely satisfied by how the man seems pleased with himself at that.

Percival doesn’t get much work done for the rest of the evening, but the lack of progress isn’t as heavy on his mind with the lively chatter of the two who apparently have been wanting to speak to him for a while—mainly, what is his job and why does it make a slave out of him for days on end. They talk at him like they’ve been holding back all this time, loudly vocalizing that he works too much, eats little, sleeps even less.

Their accent is oddly soothing to his ears, and combined with the smooth, flowing tone of voice they both possess, he can easily pretend that he is listening to the calming sounds of a radio when he closes his eyes.

Absently, the thought crosses his mind that he doesn’t remember the last time he had human company outside of work, having forgotten that it can be pleasant even if it’s mostly nagging. Not since his mother has anyone cared for his well-being in such a personal way, and it's that which allows him to be persuaded to turn in early for the night.

They support his exhausted body up the steps and into his room, safely into bed. He barely stays awake enough to mutter a quiet 'thank you’ before passing out.

 

 

It's hard to say whether the changes afterwards are a problem or not; he works less, eats enough, sleeps more.

Delegating more of the tasks to his aurors doesn’t result in the implosion of the department (or the end of the world). Going home earlier or leaving work at his office every now and then doesn't necessarily mean he falls behind schedule, either; it's true that Percival might have been going overboard with getting things done as soon as possible so there is no harm in finishing something the next day, occasionally.

He has two cats that are also sometimes people—naggers, really—because Percival eventually relented, admitting to himself the company isn’t so bad and they’ve been well-behaved long enough to earn some of his trust. He buys them their own clothes and teaches them how to make proper coffee, listens to them bicker in the background while he reads the daily news. His house has become much livelier than it ever was since he moved here from the manor after his parents’ passing two years ago.

The biggest challenge is adjusting to their overlapping behaviours when in either form. He had initially thought that there was a clear distinction between the animal and human part, but is steadily discovering that isn’t the case.

Newt and Theseus will just as naturally lean into him and wordlessly ask for a pat on the head as the cats do on occasion, while other times they are the only two in the world and will do nothing but curl up with one another anywhere in the house for hours. They emit noises suspiciously like purrs, sprawl themselves out wherever there’s sun in the room or in front of the fireplace—which he unfortunately finds out after tripping over them a couple times.

The cats, on the other hand, will sit by the coffee pot and push his hand away with their paws if they think he has had too much for the day, meow loudly and give pointed glances at the clock when it’s late at night. When he’s feeling sore, they’ll sit on his shoulder while he’s on his stomach on his bed to apply pressure to the muscles.

The first—and last—time Theseus tries to rub his scent onto him (or so he claims), the unexpected slide of the man's cheek against his own shocks him so much that Percival physically deters (punches) him and explicitly forbids either of them from doing so ever again.

Even the cats stop winding themselves around his legs after that, which confirms some of his theories.

His research on these so-called 'shapeshifters' hadn’t yielded much information, nothing that distinguishes them from what they already know of skinwalkers. But it’s obvious by this point that they are neither fully human nor fully animal which is fascinating, to say the least. Perturbing in some ways, because he has never dealt with a being he can't identify as a single species, but rather two-in-one.

“We’re our own species,” Newt supplies unhelpfully.

Newt is currently at the dining table with Theseus as a cat on his lap, petting him absently while watching Percival prepare dinner.

He asks questions about them, slipping one here and there casually into the conversation to no avail as usual, infinitely curious as to why all this secrecy. But they only ever evade answering or shake their heads, seeming almost sorry that they can’t say. Percival is reaching the point of leaving the matter alone, sympathizing that everyone has something they want, need, to hide.

Dinner is a simple meal consisting of meat, vegetables and bread, and Percival has Newt set the table. They know not to get fur on the surface where he eats but he always does a sweep over it with his wand just in case, this time being no exception. He gives a glance over to where Theseus remains a cat, watching them from the chair at the other end.

“You aren't joining us?” Percival questions.

“He isn't feeling well,” Newt replies instead.

Concern wells up unbidden at that, has Percival frowning. He doesn't realise he stopped cutting into the meat until Newt touches the back of his hand.

“He’ll be alright, Percival,” the man reassures with a smile.

And it’s not that he cares, but Percival takes a few minutes to boil some chicken and watches to see if Theseus is tempted. He isn’t. Not even when he shreds it up and offers a bite. But Theseus follows him with his eyes from a distance for the next hour as he eats, cleans up, pours himself a nightcap and settles by the fireplace. It feels pathetically imploring and provokes his sympathy.

Percival meets his gaze for a long minute, then murmurs, “Come here, Theseus.”

The cat doesn’t move at first, but then he slinks over, slows just before he reaches Percival’s feet. He prods at one with a paw and waits until Percival pats his own lap to leap up on it. Theseus arches under Percival’s hand as he slides it along his spine down to the tip of his tail, and it’s quite strange to think that, in a sense, he has a naked man in his lap this moment. Any other time, the following activity in that kind of situation would have been his preferred way to end the day, but he realizes with some surprise that he hasn’t thought of bedding anyone or sex in general since the arrival of these two rascals. Somehow, something like caring for a sick cat brings him as much enjoyment, if not more, and the thought makes Percival snort quietly.

“You’re spoiling him,” Newt chides, plopping down next to them. “It’s going to pass; he’s just being a big baby.” Ironic, seeing how Newt immediately lays his head on Percival’s shoulder and relaxes, sighs in contentment when Percival starts brushing through his hair.

There is a sense of peace Percival has never felt before with someone other than his family or his friend, sitting here on a regular week night with two essential strangers cuddled up against him. He only knows their names, that they’re partial to poultry and seafood, how Theseus likes to be groomed with the brush while Newt prefers his fingers. That both love taking baths but not showers, that in some aspects, Theseus is more reserved than his brother and Newt likes to bring home injured critters and nurse them back to health.

He knows nothing of their origins, their true intentions, why they ended up in that box on the river, whether they might leave tomorrow or stay another day.

Yet here he is, foolishly opening his home to them and even worse, his heart, because he’s sure that he will miss this when they go. And this isn’t like him, to be weakened by attachments, because he’s Percival Graves. Attachments did not get him to where he is now, at the President’s right-hand being the youngest DMLE in the history of MACUSA, working a noble (and thankless, a little voice jabs) job. Attachments are weights he cannot afford to bear.

It angers him all of a sudden, that this is even an issue due to his poor conduct these last few weeks. But he keeps it to himself since it is nobody's fault but his own for not handling the situation in a objective, efficient manner befitting of a law enforcement officer, a Graves.

It is this professionalism that will not demand that they leave here immediately, and it is this attachment that will allow them to go freely instead of demanding interrogation.

Newt and Theseus sleep soundly, unaware.

Percival watches the fire until it burns out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooooo here is the not-so-awaited part 2! WARNING: to people who might have expected certain developments that it didn't quite go there. I was unable to steer the relationship in that direction so it'll remain platonic until the end. Maybe in another universe, oh well.
> 
> Also, tags have been updated to include mild violence. I think it's mild, but I'm terrible at being an objective judge of that. Lastly, please enjoy :)

It turns out that Theseus wasn’t so much ill as he was accommodating “a sudden surge of energy”, part of the recovery process.

Percival learns this the hard way when he wakes on the couch not remembering when he had fallen asleep, and sees a fucking _lion_  dozing by his feet on the ground. Newt, the cat, is sleeping while stuck between its paws, oblivious to the danger he’s in.

 _Fuck_.

He silently calls his wand to him and the spell he casts to subdue it simply deflects off of it, much to his shock. A hex followed by another end the same way. Percival tries to assess the situation even while his mind races frantically for options, the best course of action. Merlin, he can’t find Theseus, either. Has he been eaten already? God, he can’t let it get Newt, too. He gestures a hand towards Newt to try and pull him away, but again, it’s ineffective.

Of all times for his magic to fail him—

Percival looks to the ceiling and takes a deep breath for what he's about to do, then steels himself. He slowly reaches out and grabs Newt by the nearest paw, drags him out little by little. His heart stops for an agonizing second when the lion reflexively lays a paw atop the poor thing, but thankfully it doesn’t wake up.

For a single, clear but insane moment, Percival wonders why in Merlin’s name is there a damned lion in his house.

It wakes Newt, and he mewls in confusion before noticing Percival who quickly raises a finger to his lips. _Don't worry, I’ve got you_ , he wants to say, can only hope that his eyes convey the message adequately. He motions for Newt to climb out, then chokes back a horrified noise when he starts transforming.

Instinctively, Percival pulls as hard as he can while simultaneously pushing forward past him, ignoring Newt's yelp as he shoves the man behind him into the cushions. He should apparate but his magic is unstable right now and he can’t risk splinching, not with Newt—

“Percival.”

—and the lion is stirring, a great huff of breath blasting heat their way.

“Run, Newt,” he hisses.

“Percival,” Newt repeats, long, freckled arms winding around Percival's shoulders, trapping him, “it's alright; it’s only Theseus.”

At that moment, large, feline eyes blink open, and two things pass through his mind: _I'm going to die_  and _blue_.

The lion yawns revealing ferocious teeth, and Percival doesn’t notice how hard he's breathing until a hand lifts his chin and turns his head so that he can see Newt's concerned face.

“Take deep breaths,” he instructs. “Like me, that's it.”

As Percival does so even as his mind screams that the lion is still there, yet the words manage to register and the adrenaline drains from his body, leaving him light-headed and exhausted.

“Good.”

“Dear god,” Percival hears, whips his head back around to see Theseus kneeling in front of them. “I’m so sorry, Percival; did I frighten you?”

He holds Percival's face with both hands, leans in and brings their foreheads together. The man makes some kind of noise which Percival assumes is supposed to be soothing, keeps it up while Newt nuzzles at his shoulder from behind. He should feel trapped, caught between the two like this, but strangely calms him instead.

“Right,” he croaks out after a minute, “why don't you get dressed and explain what that was about?”

After the fiasco, Percival cleans the living room of lion fur (how is this his reality, Mercy Lewis) and brews a pot of much-needed coffee while the other two dress, and waits until they are ready to talk.

They don't explain all that much beyond that they can sometimes turn into a bigger cat—Percival snorts at that—and it has to do with this ‘energy’ they’ve regained. Kind of like the magic Percival uses, but different, hence the resistance against his spells earlier. In their weakened state, they were experiencing something similar to a lowered immune system susceptible to any disease.

Percival ought to report this, says as much, but they only look at him evenly. They all know he won’t, and not only because he’s rather powerless against the two of them without his magic. He squeezes the cup between his hands as a tense few minutes pass in silence.

“Well, I think it’s time,” Theseus sighs eventually. “We’ve imposed on you for long enough.”

Percival expected as much, but the words still twist his heart a little. He nods.

“Take what you need for your journey,” he says as he stands, waving over a knapsack he had the forethought to prepare. “I have work to do so feel free to see yourselves out whenever.”

Theseus watches him with an unreadable expression and Newt looks unusually upset. They don’t respond.

“I wish you luck, then,” Percival mutters awkwardly before taking his cup and leaving the room.

“Thes...” he hears from behind and it sounds like a plea, but he doesn’t look back and goes up the stairs, shuts himself in his room where he knows they won’t come in.

He comes back out later in the evening and immediately senses the emptiness of the house, no presence to speak of in the surrounding quietness. He trudges slowly down the steps, each landing somehow loud and reverberating even with his socks on. Every room is neat and organized, how he usually keeps it, not a single thing out of place. Even the bowls he used to feed them are gone.

It’s like they were never here.

The taste of dinner is bland in his mouth, killing an already non-existent appetite, and the fire isn't as warm as it should be. He can’t concentrate on his book that night because it’s too quiet, ironically, and feels annoyed with himself for letting it affect him to this extent. They were only here for less than a month so it’s absurd that it should matter at all.

Tomorrow, he'll be back to work and everything will return to normal. He only needs to sleep, but even that eludes him for a long time.

 

 

It's all too easy to fall back into old routines; work lots, eat little, sleep even less.

Some aurors ask what happened to his cats, and Percival tells them that they ran away. They eye him with sympathy which he resents, and he turns down every offer to help search for them.

“It's _fine_ ,” he snaps at O'Brien who has been rather persistently asking. “I'm sure they are perfectly well wherever they are.”

And he believes it after what he witnessed: strong, intelligent, graceful and light on their feet, magic-resistant on top of that. So, he doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think of them, not about where they went, if they found their real home. He is also an excellent liar when he wants to be.

But his aurors don’t know that, never having discovered that the cats aren’t really cats thanks to Percival’s discretion. They think him cold afterwards; unfeeling. Even hears at one point—though he likely wasn’t supposed to—that maybe he himself did away with them. A bit hurtful, but again, it’s easier not to concern himself with such rumors, to let them think what they want.

With Perkins being the exception, strangely, because somehow he impressed upon her that deep down he is a kind soul in desperate need of comfort. She especially sympathizes with him as one who has experienced the cats running away several times.

“They’ll come back, sir,” she assures for the fifth time this week, the brat. “I’m still on the lookout.”

“You’re wasting your time,” he tells her, shuffling papers around on his desk. “And mine, for that matter.”

She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Keep telling yourself that,” and smiles innocently when he eyes her.

“I want more details on the next progress report,” he says instead. “I suspect they're using the cover of a house or an apartment rather than an actual storage facility. Narrow down possible locations to a specific section of the city.”

“Yes, sir,” she nods, then salutes him cheekily before exiting.

Percival sighs, thinking he ought to discourage her more thoroughly next time, but he never quite manages.

The rumors and whispered chatter eventually die down in a few weeks, as with all baseless speculations. Perkins gives up, too, her search yielding no results. She stops bringing them up in his presence, rather asks about his day and treats him to nicer coffee once a week and it strikes up an unusual comradery between them.

Some aurors confess and apologize for their rudeness and blink in surprise when he pretends not to know what they’re talking about. But he does gather the whole department for a long lecture about appropriate workplace behavior and professionalism—it might have been patronizing if they weren’t so childish at times that he feels more like a caretaker than a boss—cautioning against accusing innocents in actual cases without sufficient information. There are those who are shame-faced and others who are disgruntled; they may forget what he says here today, but will learn one way or another. He only hopes it isn’t the hard way like it was for him once, though it is unlikely with the reality of this job.

Everything nearly goes back to normal except for the fact that he still stops at the river without thinking when he happens to pass by it. It’s good that he can disguise it as enjoying the view because he finds it shameful that he remains foolishly sentimental after all these months, wondering. His home is an empty case of bricks and wood and some nights the loneliness will penetrate through the barriers of his mind and pierce his heart. He even accepts a few invitations from his aurors to a dinner or drink after work to help stave that hollow feeling in his chest and it works to some extent. They seem to like him despite his generally unsociable disposition and initiate an unofficial, ongoing competition as to who can make him laugh.

It shocks them the first time he does, and their faces make him laugh even more.

Sera tries to introduce him to a 'nice young lady/gentleman' when he muses out loud to her that his house might be too big for him and at first he politely declines, having no time to spare for a formal meeting about romantic intentions that requires effort from him.

And then he tries once, twice at her insistence. They don’t end with promises of next time but are good enough to take his mind off of things for the night.

One week in April, he finds photos of cats on his desk. Surely this must be a joke, he thinks as anger rapidly rises within him. He snatches the pile up and flips through them—five, five different breeds, each as adorable as the next. One might be tempted to adopt all of them, but Percival isn't looking to do so. Not for a long while if not never. With the photos in hand, he immediately goes to Perkins who watches him approach with wide eyes.

“What do you need—”

“What is this?” he demands, waving the photos at her. “I don’t need to be _set up_  with cats.”

“That—that wasn’t me, sir,” she stammers.

“Who else could it be—”

“Director!”

He and Perkins turn to see Goldstein hurrying over, face apologetic.

“I’m sorry, those are mine,” she explains. “It's in regards to an investigation and I left a note of inquiry along with them. I think.”

She fidgets under his blank stare and it takes a moment for Percival to realize he had overreacted to cat photos and assumed wrongly while completely missing the note he now recalls vaguely sitting beside them, still on his desk. What an utter fool he is.

He grits his teeth before breathing deeply. “I see. My apologies, Perkins; that was out of line.”

“It's alright, sir,” Perkins replies uncertainly. “But, uh, if you were looking—”

“Not at all,” he cuts in immediately, firm. “I'm sorry for disrupting you. Goldstein, come with me.”

Thankfully, no one talks about the embarrassing incident afterwards but they seem to avoid mentioning anything feline-related around him. Perhaps he's imagining things.

 

 

When a year passes, Percival starts to think that he had been dreaming. That he never found any kittens, that they could transform into humans and a lion at one point. It might have been dismissed altogether if it weren’t for the fact that his aurors remember them, too. And the realization how isolated he had been before that event.

Percival doesn’t quite return to his reclusive self. He enjoys an outing every now and then with his aurors, a drink with Sera once a month, and the rare evening with a potential lover. No one quite retains his interest enough past the first date, but every meeting is usually cordial and light-hearted, a welcome contrast to the daily grind of his work. After the fourth time or so, he's left with a growing desire to have someone by his side even temporarily, at least for longer than a couple hours.

It happens a mere week later when he’s at a pub with some colleagues. Their eyes meet from across the room like some scripted film and the man winks at him, lifts his glass in acknowledgement. It’s enough in his slightly tipsy state to pique Percival’s curiosity, and he excuses himself before heading over to the bar with his own drink.

He looks to be about Percival’s age, perhaps a little older. It’s difficult to tell when a handsome face with a sharp nose and generous mouth, piercing eyes paler than the swept back blond hair distract one from noticing much else. Truth be told, he’s a bit flattered that he was noticed by such a handsome fellow who smiles and looks him over.

James, he’s called, and he turns out to be quite the well-spoken intellectual with a dry sense of humor that Percival appreciates among other qualities. They spend the next hour sharing in what Percival finds is an engaging conversation while subtly gauging each other’s interest, and he’s sorry when it has to come to an end as his colleagues start to leave. He thinks he’d like to see the man again, get to know him better, but braces himself to decline an offer to spend the night because it isn’t what he seeks.

“I’d like to see you again,” James says unexpectedly as if reading his thoughts. He reaches out then waits for permission to place a hand gently on Percival’s forearm atop the counter. “Perhaps a coffee during the day?”

The tone is light but his words seem sincere, and it’s a pleasant surprise considering the desire Percival notices in the man’s gaze. It warms him to think that his interest must be mutual and he can’t help the small smile.

“How about this Saturday at eleven?” he replies in a low voice, leaning forward slightly and looking up from under his lashes, enjoying the way those icy blue eyes go a little dark.

The tension between them is palpable yet he likes how they’re savoring it rather than acting hastily. With the promise of their next meeting, they bid goodbye to one another and Percival goes home somewhat elated.

He tells Sera about it the day after as the reason why he cannot accept her invitation to lunch this particular weekend. While wearing a highly skeptical expression which does little to affect his good mood, she congratulates him and wishes him luck. Not that he needs luck when he has charm and charisma, but he accepts the sentiment all the same.

The date is quite successful in that they agree to a second one by the end of it. Percival is unbelievably charmed by the man though he had meant to do the charming; a professor recently moved from overseas with a passion for magical history, trilingual—“So I can seduce you in multiple languages,” he tosses into the conversation smoothly with a wink—and a penchant for feeding strays.

“You must think me strange,” James sighs, “but sometimes it’s difficult to leave them alone.”

“Not at all,” Percival reassures. “That's kind of you,” and he perfectly understands that sentiment, glad to see a glimpse of this commonality between them.

They part with a promise and a kiss, one that Percival spends an embarrassing amount of time thinking about during the week.

After two more dates with James, one of his aurors dares to ask if something good happened because apparently, it’s obvious that there is a newfound energy to his motions and difference in general mood. Percival stares at the auror while debating how to answer that until the man starts to fidget. It's one thing to keep to himself the private aspects of his life, another to outright lie about it after inadvertently getting caught because he couldn’t contain it.

“Perhaps,” he replies stiffly after clearing his throat, not meeting the other’s eyes and shuffling papers.

“Oh,” and Kinney sounds surprised at the admission, so much so that he simply stands there for a minute, unnerving Percival. “Well, uh, that's wonderful, sir.”

Then he leaves.

Percival stares at the closed door for a full minute, willing for time to turn back and erase that exchange out of existence but what’s done is done, he resigns.

James remains a mystery to the department because he warns his colleagues who had been there with him not to tell while also being careful himself, but these bastards who choose to be highly intuitive in such matters (and not so much professionally) try to be sneaky in interrogating him during the next week. Of course, they’re no match for Percival’s defense and evasion. What he doesn’t understand is why it’s any of their business or interest whether he is seeing someone or not.

It gives him an excuse to train these lazy asses harder, much to his satisfaction.

Regardless, more of them comment that it’s good to see him happier, as if he had not been so before. That isn’t true, he tells himself, though his life may possibly have improved the littlest bit if he were to be truly honest.

Some days later Percival finds himself arriving early to a reservation at a nice restaurant for dinner, admittedly eager for this deepening connection. With time to kill, he observes briefly the rest of the interior and other guests. It’s a no-maj establishment which unfortunately means no wine to enjoy with the meal, but the food is decent which is enough. Everyone—mostly couples—seems to be having a good time and he looks forward to being one of them.

There is approximately ten minutes left until their agreed time so he pulls out a book, a short novel he picked up the other day from a store and starts to read.

“Excuse me,” he hears someone not even five pages in. “Is this seat taken?”

Which is unusual because they should not have even been led to his _reserved_  table in the first place. “Yes,” Percival replies without taking his eyes off the book.

There is rustling, then in his peripheral Percival sees that someone sit in the other seat. _How rude_.

“Did you not hear—” then the words die on his lips as he gets a good look at the person, doubting his eyes. He stares in disbelief for a few seconds before gasping, “Theseus?”

Theseus waves and grins crookedly, just the same as Percival remembers. “It’s good to see you, Percival.”

He has cleaned up rather well unlike Percival has ever seen him, dressed in a formal buttoned shirt and a jacket, part of a suit no doubt. It makes Percival curious as to why he came _in human form_ , even going through the trouble of dressing as such to blend in with the atmosphere of the restaurant. However...

“What are you doing? You can’t be here!” Percival hisses quietly, the shock quickly wearing off and making way for panic

The grin drops, and the man purses his lips in a pout. “You really know how to make someone feel welcome.”

“You’re the one barging in,” Percival retorts hotly. “I’m meeting someone very soon.”

Instead of looking apologetic, Theseus’s expression darkens unexpectedly. “Right, about that...” and in in a flash of movement, he reaches across and grabs Percival by the arm resting on the table and drags him up with shocking strength, making him drop the book before dragging him along.

“Thes—!”Percival shuts his mouth and swallows back his outrage, unresisting only because he doesn’t want to start a commotion in a public place. But he pulls away the second they’re outside.

Or, he tries to.

Theseus’s grip is strong—almost too much so, he thinks as he tries not to wince—marching them down the street relentlessly. Percival curses him, demands to be let go, and all of it goes ignored until he turns into an alley out of sight. And then Percival’s back is against a wall, blinking into blue, near-luminescent in the shadow of the surrounding buildings.

“You bastard—” Percival spits, then chokes the next second when he’s enveloped into a tight embrace.

“Thank god,” Theseus breathes, “you’re safe.”

“What is the meaning of this, Theseus?” Percival tries again, softening his tone a little and patting the man awkwardly on his back. “And where is Newt? I thought you went home.”

Theseus releases him, draws back just enough for Percival to breathe without suffocating. He puts a hand to Percival’s cheek as eyes roam over every inch of his face in a strange parody of intimacy between lovers. It’s nothing new to Percival, however, this casual touch that has no other meaning than what it is. He allows the man to finish checking him over, the last of his anger dissolving at the concern he sees.

“Can we go somewhere private?” Theseus speaks at last, low, turning his gaze and watching the mouth of the alley.

Percival frowns, answers honestly, “Not now; I’m meeting someone soon.”

“You are not going back there, sorry,” but Theseus doesn’t sound sorry, holding his arm again as if to prevent his escape. “He’s dangerous. Now, come on, we need to go—”

“How do you know?” Percival demands, suddenly wary and suspicious and stepping to the side, pulling away. “That it’s a man, that he’s dangerous. How long have you been here?”

Theseus sighs heavily and faces him again, expression twisted into a grimace. “I can explain everything, but please... not here. He might find us.”

A shiver passes over Percival, unused to the grave tone of voice instilling a sense of dread within him. It’s unusual to see this man so visibly anxious, having always been light-hearted and care-free from Percival’s recollection, him and his brother both. Even as he struggles, Percival knows his decision is made and hates that he still cares.

“Where is Newt?”

The relief that passes over Theseus’s face settles something inside of him, and he takes the hand that is offered, follows after his—

 _Acquaintance? Pet-turned-houseguest?_  He doesn’t even know how to define the brief arrangement that they once had, wonders why it’s so easy to listen, to trust.

“He was going to wait at your house but it might not be safe there, either,” Theseus replies. “We’ll find each other. Is there anywhere else that we could talk in secret?”

His mind suggests his office at MACUSA but dismisses it immediately. Too many people. It will draw suspicion if he walks in with two strangers, and even if can sneak them in as cats, anyone can barge in at the wrong moment. There is another location, a bit far, but...

Percival tugs on his hand, making Theseus stop.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, afraid of the answer either way.

Theseus regards him silently, reserved yet thoughtful, almost as if he’s afraid, too, of his own reply. A near imperceptible nod follows.

“Yes.”

 

 

Despite some years having passed, the Graves manor looks completely the same. On the outside, at least. The vast stretch of stone, steel and glass soundlessly groans with age, the history of it showing in the cracks and discolouration of the architecture in some parts. Guilt weighs on his chest as he wonders if he should have remained here to take care of it. The hired housekeepers should have maintained the interior without rearranging anything as he had asked, but the outside is a different matter. Most signs of wear should be reversible, and he makes a note to himself to look over the place afterwards.

He sighs as he stands at the door, knowing that there is no need to knock, that no one will ever welcome him to this home again. With a key and some spellwork, he lets himself inside, thinks he will have to reinforce the wards here, too, because they seem weakened. They don’t repel the two that follow behind him, only tingle against his senses a little to inform him of their presence. It reminds him once again of their... uniqueness.

Newt gasps as he takes in the surroundings, coming up behind Percival and casually draping himself over his shoulders.

“You used to live here?” his voice is close, ever-curious.

“A bit large for one person,” Theseus observes.

Percival shrugs. “There were more of us,” and he doesn’t elaborate on that.

He leads them to the main sitting area, removing the furniture covers and dispelling the dust, starting the fire. Percival gestures for them to sit and wait here but they follow him like ducklings to the kitchen, ignoring his exasperated glare. They end up staying there, drinking their respective coffee and tea and munching on light refreshments purchased on the way to the manor.

“What do you know of the White Wizard?” Theseus asks eventually.

“The White Wizard,” Percival repeats with an arched brow, sceptical.

“The Dark Wizard, Thes,” Newt corrects.

“Right,” Theseus nods, barking out a short laugh. “He’s quite the pasty-looking chap, so we took to calling him by his appearance. But you seem to have your own name for bad sort like him, like Newt said.”

Percival has heard of such a person, the stories of a dark and powerful wizard recently stirring up trouble in Europe. America is well aware of anything that threatens the Statute of Secrecy, being strictly bound by their own derivation of the law and as such makes it their business to know.

“You mean Gellert Grindelwald,” he guesses, watching as both brothers grow somber, faces darkening.

“That’s the one,” Newt says blankly, frowning. “He’s the reason we ran away in the first place and got separated.”

“He attacked us; our family, our community,” Theseus continues, fist shaking slightly upon the table. “I don’t know how he even discovered our existence because we take care to hide ourselves, too. But he did and we scattered. Some got captured—our parents as well—but we managed to escape and that's when you found us.”

“Said he had plans to use us, but that isn’t going to happen,” Newt grits through his teeth.

Percival’s heart twists a little at the anguish he sees from their loss, can sympathize to a certain extent. He already decides with some resignation that he will help them should they ask. Perhaps he might regardless.

The explanation, though helpful regarding how they came to America despite obviously being native to elsewhere, leaves more questions than answers.

“I'm assuming your search has led you back here, then,” Percival muses.

He gets twin blinks of confusion in response.

“No?” Theseus replies like a question. “I mean, yes, sort of. We’ve already found everyone.”

Now it’s Percival’s turn to be confused, brows scrunching together. “So...”

“He's here. The dark one.”

“ _What_?” his hand slams down on the table, almost sloshing his coffee over the rim. Are they tricking him? Is this a joke? If it isn't, how does he not know this? “How do you know? You should be here even less, then.”

“We missed you,” Newt says bluntly, shocking him. “We wanted to see you again, thought to come for a visit and found him approaching you for some reason.”

“Approaching—” It takes less than a second to put it together, clouds his mind with doubt and concern. “You mean James.”

Silence.

“How do you know,” Percival says, voice surprisingly steady as opposed to the sickness growing in his stomach.

“It’s the smell,” Theseus says warily, watching him. “He can’t erase that fully even when changing forms.”

Percival gets up and walks out, summoning his coat to him and trying to organize his thoughts that are confuddled, a chaotic myriad of 'if's and 'how's and 'why's. He hears scrambling and calling of his name but doesn’t stop until he’s at the door, only to turn around and glower at the two who chased after him.

“Stay,” he snarls. “Don’t follow me.”

Their eyes are wide, hurt things and he might feel bad if it isn't for the conscious effort to keep himself composed and rational while brimming with the need to find out the truth.

While desperately hoping that they're mistaken, because the other outcome...

He grits his teeth and pins them with one last look, then closes the door on them. It won't do anything should they choose not to listen, but Percival imagines they’ll be upset with him enough to stay away for a bit.

The first thing he needs to do is contact James at least to apologize for his sudden absence, then conduct a discreet investigation of his own to confirm the man's identity. No need to alert anyone without concrete evidence, after all. He tells himself that it’s to prove they’re wrong, that the timing might be coincidental regarding James’s arrival and theirs and this could be all baseless conjecture, for all he knows. But there’s a gut instinct believing them enough to warrant some suspicion.

That’s why he needs to know more.

After an hour walking the periphery of the manor, Percival returns inside and finds the brothers exactly where he left them. They don’t appear indignant or anything the like from his earlier outburst, but instead lost and dejected.

“Percival,” Newt starts, but quiets immediately with a look.

If he were a cat right now, his ears would be folded back, Percival imagines.

“I will handle this matter my own way,” Percival states after a breath, “and deal with the consequences, whatever those may be. _And_ —” he raises his voice to stop further protests—“you two will not interfere. If this man is truly who you say it is, then you should be gone.”

Theseus scoffs, shakes his head. “That’s our decision; we’re here so you don’t get hurt.”

“Go home, you two,” Percival tells them firmly as if he didn’t hear. “And don’t come back.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic in the face of two hurt, crestfallen expressions, but Percival knows it’s for the best. Newt and Theseus aren’t meant to be here, not in the city, certainly not with him. They have their own family and culture, and he was only a means to help them return to it. He turns his back to them, likely for the last time, and leaves.

Percival apparates as soon as he is able because he tells himself not to waste anymore time, but really, he’s weak; he wants to distance himself.

It surprises him immensely to find James at the Woolworth building when he arrives, and also arouses some wariness even as guilt stabs at him. He doesn’t show it, however, as he approaches him, accepts the gestured offer to talk elsewhere. They end up at the small local speakeasy where they first met, and James smiles a bit sadly at the choice.

“I hope this doesn’t imply anything,” he remarks after they’re sat, trying to sound casual and falling just short of it. He accepts the drink Percival has gotten them. “Sorry, I thought—”

“No,” Percival interrupts softly, “it was my fault. Something suddenly came up at work and I didn't have time to inform you beforehand. My apologies.”

A hand covers his atop the bar counter and before tonight, the easy touch would have warmed Percival, caused him to lean in for a quick kiss. But something makes him hesitate, uncomfortable, and James notices.

His hand slides away.

“Percival,” he sighs, running the same hand over his hair, “Will it not work between us?”

Merlin, while his eyes are pleading he keeps a respectable distance, is such a gentleman about it and it evokes a measure of compassion in Percival. James has been wonderful so far, his personality and mannerisms compatible with his and he shares the same concerns about the poor strays; he’s quick-witted in a way Percival appreciates, making for easy conversations of both casual and serious natures. It’s hard to describe him as anything other than perfect and Percival will be hard-pressed to lose such a man.

Almost _too_  perfect, a part of his mind suddenly whispers, makes him pause.

“I didn’t say that,” Percival replies, watches carefully how relief relaxes the tension in James’s shoulders.

They part for the night shortly after on hopeful terms, but it leaves Percival thinking, also.

Everything about James is to Percival’s liking, even the glimpses of his flaws; and while it can be argued that it’s his affections for him that paint those flaws in a positive light, he can reasonably say it isn’t such an emotional attachment that colours his perspective.

It can possibly be said that James is made for him, and there is cause to doubt such a thing in his line of work.

So, he asks questions as with any investigation. He’s careful, of course, not to make it an interrogation; only plays on being the curious boyfriend. He starts seeing the signs: missing details, vague answers, contradictory information, which all would have been fine because everyone has secrets, a desire to protect themselves from strangers. James is also passionately opinionated on certain subjects of conversation, political in nature. But it’s the impatience with which James reacts the longer Percival resists making progress in the relationship that is most telling. He could be impatient to bed Percival, perhaps, or he desperately needs access to Percival’s residence judging from the way he asks, backing off at every subsequent rejection with increasing displeasure.

Further inquiries behind the man's back reveal that James is non-existent in terms of registration and permits, at least nothing legitimate. Something inside Percival grows cold at the confirmation. He wastes no time dwelling on personal feelings and sets about to capture whoever this may be, a different kind of desire now burning within him—one that will see this crook in a jail cell before long.

“Tonight? For certain?” James asks when Percival finally offers.

“We’ve been having only dinner long enough,” he replies, looks up through his lashes as his mouth curves up.

James smiles back and curls his hand over Percival’s.

 

 

They trade kisses as they stumble through the door, teeth biting hungrily at Percival’s mouth. He’s pressed against the wall just inside and laughs breathlessly, winding his arms around James.

“How did you know, darling?” James murmurs against his lips.

Percival doesn’t answer right away, heart beating nervously at the unhurried, unworried tone, and draws back a bit to meet amused eyes that have lost their calculated warmth.

He keeps his summoned wand steadily pointed at James’s back. “Where should I start?”

‘James’ chuckles. “As expected of you, Director Graves; I almost believed I had you.”

The shame that fills him at the truth of those words is ruthlessly stamped down because this is neither the time nor place. He aims a binding spell—

—and shoots his hand out reflexively as he's tripped by a foot hooking onto his ankle. His hand catches onto the lapel of the other man’s coat and he pulls with a grunt as he regains his balance. 'James' twists and grips his wand arm, pushing it down and immediately changing the hold onto the wrist. The squeeze on it is painful but before it gets to the point of relaxing his hand, Percival knocks his head forward into the man’s face. He already knows it isn’t enough even as his forehead stings and the man stumbles back a little, only held by where Percival still has his coat.

Percival raises his wand once more, a spell on his lips when the other raises his own with the palm outward as if to try and block it. And then he suddenly chokes, an invisible force pressing down on his throat.

 _Wandless_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully.

His hand twitches helplessly against the man’s chest, once, then he surges his own magic through it in a desperate push. James cries out as he slams into the opposite wall and Percival coughs and wheezes, but his relief is short-lived as another shove knocks him to the side further into the house and a blunt force to the head disorients him briefly. A quick numbing first-aid does the trick and he rises up and turns just in time to shield a hex thrown his way. It crashes, flashing too bright, and it makes his own hex fly inaccurately. He hears cement crack and crumble. A curse sits heavy on his tongue, no time to even spit it out as he distances himself from his assailant who smiles, still, pulling out his own wand.

“Light on your feet, aren’t you,” he says as if impressed, and tosses another few curses that Percival easily deflects.

He’s testing him.

The next spell skids him across the floor a good few feet and into the sitting area; his hand shakes from the impact. As soon as his legs hits the sofa, with a hand on the back of it, he leaps over behind it just as a stream of red streaks past him, singeing him at the forearm. Landing none too gracefully, Percival inhales sharply at the sting of the wound that starts to bleed. Instead of wasting magic on he tears the shirt sleeve rest of the way and wraps it. Footsteps come closer and Percival holds his breath to hear for any other movement, but then it stops—no, doesn’t stop, he realizes, it's—

Reaching around the sofa with the good hand, Percival motions a pull without looking and hears the rug slide as well as a curse from 'James' followed by a thud. He moves out from behind the furniture and gestures for the rug to tangle between the legs, then uses his wand—ignoring the throbbing injury—to disarm his opponent.

Who disapparates faster than anyone Percival has seen.

Another whack to the back of his head—and it rings this time—has him falling with an aborted cry, choking on a breath when he hits the floor chest-first and a foot steps on the middle of his back. A quiet _expelliarmus_  and his wand goes skittering.

“Not only pretty, but strong as well,” the voice above him muses.

Something pokes the back of his neck when he tries to turn his head—a wand. He holds still.

“Do you know who I am, Director?”

Someone who will be dead soon if he doesn’t get his filthy foot off his back, Percival thinks viciously.

“ _Crucio_.”

Pain suddenly explodes and tears through his limbs, and it’s gone just as quickly before Percival can even open his mouth to scream. He lies there shaking, breath harsh and ragged and eyes watering.

“That was rude,” 'James' tsks.

 _And so is lying your way into someone's home_ ; Percival hides that thought better than the first one.

“Enough with the games, Grindelwald,” Percival rasps out, and revels a little in the surprised silence.

He plans to bide his time, just until he feels strong enough to throw the man off. But then he senses at the edge of his mind a certain presence entering the premises. A certain _two_  of them.

 _Merlin’s fucking balls_.

It’s with great effort that Percival remains outwardly unaffected, keeping his mind clear of any telling thoughts that can be gleaned. A glance around doesn’t show where his wand his, and when he lifts his head a bit the wandpoint presses harder into the vulnerable flesh. Just as he wonders how he might grab hold of some part of Grindelwald and blast him off, a hand yanks him by the hair and strains his neck back while the foot pushes between his shoulders. A groan leaves him involuntarily but he takes the opportunity to look for his wand. There, underneath the small table.

“I don’t believe you figured that out on your own, boy,” Grindelwald says from right behind.

“I’ve been told I’m quite intelligent,” Percival grits through his teeth and gets his head bashed into the floor for it.

His nose snaps and teeth cut into his lips and he tastes the copper of his own blood; he’s dazed, head spinning. But as soon as Grindelwald lets go, Percival throws himself back against the foot even though his shoulders twinge in protest and rolls to the side, hands already outstretched—one for his wand, the other to pull the man down. He catches one of Grindelwald’s legs but the other stomps on his wrist and Percival screams. He barely hears his wand being kicked away through the haze of agony, brings the possibly broken wrist to cradle against his chest while curling in towards where he clings to the man’s leg.

“Persistent,” Grindelwald spits out like a curse, and then he mutters something else which has Percival’s arm being forcefully dragged behind him. It jostles him and he bites back a whimper. “Now, if you would stay still, we can talk without further complications—”

A deafening roar pierces through the tension in the room and the next thing Percival knows, a large shadow is flying over him and taking Grindelwald with it. A scream sounds from the man’s throat and Percival needs to get up, needs to see, needs to stop it—

“You fool,” a voice hisses from nearby. Percival blinks up against the ceiling light which is soon blocked by a silhouette. “You utter _wanker_.”

Percival huffs, lips and teeth sticky with saliva and blood. “Why do you kids never listen.” The sound of snarling and struggling persist off to the side, claws scratching at the floor, fabric, and spells crashing into furniture and surfaces. “Go stop your brother, Theseus.”

“Don’t want to,” Theseus growls, and his hands lightly brush Percival’s bruised face.

“If you kill him...” Percival lets the warning hang.

Theseus sighs like he’s put upon. “Fine, fine. You stay right here, alright?”

“As if I can go anywhere,” Percival slurs, eyes starting to close.

“Wanker,” Theseus says again, somehow making it sounds affectionate. He then kisses him on the temple and pats his chest before moving out of Percival’s sight.

The last thing Percival hears is Theseus not listening.

 

 

The next time he opens his eyes, Grindelwald—unveiled, not as attractive as his disguise—is unconscious in a corner, restrained and beaten quite badly, and he himself is lying down on the sofa with his head in Newt’s lap. Newt croons at him when he sees and asks how he feels.

“I’ve been better,” Percival croaks out, grimaces at the twinge in his nose and disgusting feeling in his mouth. Theseus show up right then with a glass of water and he first washes out whatever is inside, drinks gratefully, then, “Would you mind grabbing some pain potion from the bathroom?”

Theseus fulfills his request without a word, and he feels both brothers stare as he regains a bit more awareness and proceeds to heal himself the best he can. Percival sets his nose some and reduces some of the bruising on his body, but he’ll have to see a healer for his wrist and dentition. They bound his arm sometime while he was out and the stabilizing helps for now.

Newt helps him sit up afterwards but then pulls him in between his legs to stretch out across the whole seat, Percival’s back to his chest. Before he can even protest, Theseus drapes over his front, mindful of the injuries. They well and truly trap him and he can feel himself instinctively relax into their hold, which actually puts him on edge.

“You fool of a man,” Newt mumbles, rubs his cheek against the side of Percival’s head. “What would you have done if we weren’t here?”

“I would have been fine,” Percival snaps back. “I can take care of myself.”

“Right,” Theseus rolls his eyes. “And look where it has gotten you.”

Percival deliberately remains still. “What exactly do you mean by that.” It's meant to be rhetorical but Theseus makes as if to answer.

“He means nothing at all,” Newt cuts in, arms winding around his shoulders, “because he’s being stupid and doesn’t think. We know you can, Percy, that you’re perfectly capable—”

“But we want to help when you can’t,” Theseus finishes.

The eyes that bore into his are steel-like in colour, warm, intense blues that differ from the ones he had almost fallen for not too long ago. It reminds him how he had utterly failed in trying for a relationship, the shame he had locked away earlier now filling his being with a vengeance, along with humiliation and self-disgust. Such is his reality, Percival snorts bitterly, looking away. No one wants to be with him, at least not anyone who wants to use or kill him; no one wants to—

“—stay.”

“What?” Percival responds, dragged from his thoughts.

“Let us stay, please,” Newt says. “We came back for you. It’s—it’s hard to explain, but... Please.”

There is sincerity in his voice, also reflected in the face in front of his own. Theseus cups his face and touches their foreheads together.

“Please?” he whispers.

No one has ever stayed, but... no one has ever come back, either. Until now.

“Okay,” Percival finds himself saying, closing his eyes. Newt makes a pleased noise, and Theseus sighs in relief. “Okay, but no more secrets.”

After Grindelwald is taken to MACUSA’s cells, Percival fills out the necessary paperwork, gives verbal accounts and sees the healer. The brothers as cats are there with him and are given surprised looks from everyone, but no one asks and so he doesn't explain. By the time the whole business is wrapped up on his end, Percival feels like he's about to collapse and wants nothing more than to sleep the rest of his leave of work with certain bedfellows. At home, the cats eagerly hop on when pats the bed next to him and they curl just so against him and against each other. They sleep.

And the next morning, they talk. Curled together on the sofa again—a tight fit, admittedly—with coffee and tea.

They’re creatures of old magic, he's told, long before the existence of skinwalkers and wizardfolk; hence, the ineffectiveness of human magic which is a weaker derivative of it. It mainly helped them protect themselves and others weaker than them using magically-enhanced features and spells weaved by elements of nature, also useful in hunting and surviving.

Newt and Theseus are obviously of the feline kind though there are others out there, and they get along with the canines just fine contrary to what humans nowadays believe. As the times changed and civilization grew with towns and cities of modern architecture, they were forced to adapt and lost much of their original forms and abilities with each new generation due to cross-breeding.

“Used to be bigger, they say, almost the size of a dragon,” Newt sighs wistfully, “more limbs, more tails, but then we lost it all as the need diminished.”

A thought occurs to Percival. “A wampus?”

“What's that?” Theseus asks.

With his wand, Percival magicks an image of his Ilvermony house creature and his friends watch in awe before recognition lights their eyes.

“That would be our grandfather's generation,” Newt explains, looks to Theseus who nods in confirmation.

Percival startles. “Grandfather? Only?”

“We live a couple hundred years, at least,” Theseus shrugs, nonchalant.

“So how old are you?” Percival demands.

“We were born...” Newt taps his chin in thought. “Seventy? Eighty? Years ago. Around your age, I reckon, if we had the same lifespan. Sorry for being vague, but we don’t care much for dates of birth and celebrations as your kind.”

“It gets tedious,” Theseus adds.

Tedious, Percival thinks incredulously even as his head spins. “Right.”

They continue how they still remain hidden from humans but occasionally some families will find work in the local towns for a bit before they move on in order not to arouse suspicion.

“It’s getting hard to find places where we can just... be,” Theseus says. He places his cup down and shifts away from Percival’s side only to slide onto the floor where he lays his head and arms over Percival’s knees. “Upsetting but inevitable, what with the growth and reproduction rate of mankind. You people don’t seem to care much for preservation.”

Although Percival may not be directly responsible and he knows that this isn’t an accusation of any sort, he still feels a stab of guilt in his chest, sympathy for these beings who are losing themselves.

“I could help,” he blurts without thinking, and adds a bit sheepishly, “Somehow.”

Newt laughs, knocks his head against Percival’s shoulder before nuzzling into it. His hand automatically goes up to pat the mop of curls and draws a purr-like sound from the man.

“Very kind of you,” he says, “but we're fine. It is what it is, nature’s course and all.”

“At least find you wives, perhaps, or whatever you call them,” Percival mutters, feeling stubborn. “Must be a magical being, no? To be compatible. There are ways to search—”

“A mate,” Theseus corrects him, absently scratching at the material of his pants. “And we’re still young yet, no need to rush. Besides, it’s comfortable here.”

“When we do, it’ll be lifelong so it needs some consideration,” Newt sighs. “This is good enough for now.”

And what is 'this', Percival wants to ask. Three grown men acting as if such close physical proximity is normal, relationship undefined and unsexual in nature, not even between the same species. The affection he feels for them is not quite that of a friend, something deeper perhaps if he is truly being honest, yet not that of a lover, either. It’s confusing but he dare not put words to it, not with his limited knowledge, lest something changes.

Because surprisingly, he’s fine with this, too. With animals who are sometimes humans, non-verbal companions soft to the touch, nagging caretakers, sources of warmth when his bed feels too large, too cold.

“It’s too hot,” Percival complains and bites back a smile when they move reluctantly from his person, grumbling under their breaths.

Newt joins his brother on the floor by Percival’s feet and drapes himself over the other’s lap, and Theseus starts petting him and stroking down his spine. It makes the man curl up in pleasure and rumble deep in his chest.

Strange, Percival thinks fondly and shakes his head. He summons a book he has yet to finish and raises his legs up onto the vacant seat, starts to read.

And an hour later, he finds himself sitting on the floor up against a lion’s flank, a cat sitting atop it reading with him over his shoulder.

Definitely strange, but fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a timestamp for Catalysts! A slice-of-life piece, the rare mundaneity in the life of Percival Graves.
> 
> Picture below is commissioned from QED221B @ TUMBLR who did such a wonderful job and I'm so happy that I did this.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please don't take without permission or repost.**
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

A typical weekend for Percival starts with waking up sometime around when he usually does for work, groggily pulling himself out of bed and stumbling his way to kitchen. He brews himself coffee and doesn’t fully gain consciousness until he has had a cup, followed closely by a second which he drinks while reading that day’s papers. Afterwards, he makes a mental list of tasks—groceries, cleaning, laundry, paperwork he brought home—to complete and gets ready to leave. Some weekends he needs to go into work to finish up a case and that will take a good portion of the day, leaving only some of Sunday to finish chores and rest before he’s back at MACUSA.

Or at least that’s how it was.

This morning, he wakes to a tail or ear tickling his face with the sun already peeking through his curtains. His insistence that he expand the bed so that all three of them can lie comfortably went cleanly ignored multiple times because they'd rather sleep like this and be able to lie over him as they like without suffocating him.

The body parts naturally slide off as he sits up. Newt ends up rolled to the side, still deeply asleep, but Theseus always wakes when Percival moves and lets out a disgruntled noise. The cat crawls back over and kneads the soft flesh of Percival's pajama-covered thighs before flopping down again on his side, blinking slow and soft up at him. Percival does the same in greeting and also to wake further, but he still has to rub the bleariness away. Tucking the covers around Newt, he summons his robe to him, then lifts Theseus to hold him against his chest before getting out of bed.

In the bathroom, he relieves himself and brushes his teeth, forgoes shaving because he has no plans to be outside today. Theseus tucks his little head against the crook of Percival’s neck and purrs the whole while, paws over the shoulders. Percival discovered—a couple months into their cohabitation after the Grindelwald incident—that for being older and carrying that responsibility on his shoulders, Theseus is surprisingly as affectionate as Newt, especially in the privacy of their home. Mornings like this, he'll cling onto him in whatever form (mostly as a cat because he isn’t immediately awake enough to shift) and will remain this way for as long as he can help it.

For example, Percival can’t even put him down to make coffee lest the cat winds himself around Percival’s legs and hinders his movements while meowing pathetically until picked up again.

The problem lies in that he usually tries not to use magic for the simple tasks, actually quite enjoys the rhythm and technique of doing things manually. But with the added company he unintentionally became quite adept at doing some things with one hand.

 

 

Theseus sits like a baby on his arm and his tail swings lazily as Percival pulls out the coffee grinds from the cupboards, measures it, and fills the percolator with water. Once it’s plugged in, he sets out to cook a simple breakfast; as he gets the eggs from the refrigerator, he nudges the cat and holds one up in question when he looks over. A paw comes up to push it aside in answer and Theseus tucks away his face again.

Alright, cat food it is.

The pan heats on the stove and he hoists the lazy thing onto his shoulders before casting a charm to maintain a little cleanliness (finding stray fur in his food isn’t the most pleasant experience, Percival learned). He soon has eggs sizzling and bread toasting and another cat yowling plaintively from upstairs. Not a minute later, Newt slinks in so Percival has to magick the food onto the plates and the finished coffee into a cup. Sure enough, the other cat tries to climb him and he has to pick him up to save his own legs from those claws.

Both of them get fussy and bat at each other over his shoulder until Percival warns them with a stern, “Gentlemen, I will drop you this second if you do not cease.”

He then goes to another cupboard, waves it open and fetches two cans and feeding bowls. By the time he has everything set on the table, anti-fur charm and all, Percival is starving. Theseus and Newt reluctantly come down to the table but are soon distracted by the food in front of them, and it’s then that Percival—sitting at the opposite side of the table from them—finally takes the first sip of his coffee.

It’s rich in aroma and taste just as he likes, nothing like the sludge they serve at MACUSA unless someone goes on an errand to the nearby café. He enjoys a second then a third sip and sighs in contentment before having a bite of his buttered toast. There's an atmosphere of tranquility in his kitchen that comes not from solitude but true peace despite having two others with him. It's quiet save for the sounds of their eating and the occasional rustling of the morning papers Percival is reading. The brothers groom one another after finishing their meal and appropriately remove themselves from the room to hack up anything.

When they return, they’re human and clothed (minimally with pants as they still have a dislike for covering their bodies). Theseus goes about cleaning the empty plates and bowls while Newt brews tea for them both, also gets Percival his second cup. They all move to the sitting room afterwards, not a word uttered between them because it’s one of those times that verbal communication isn’t needed. Once there, they pile on the sofa together in an organized mess of tangled bodies: Percival in the centre with his arm around Newt who tucks into his side and Theseus twisting his legs with Newt’s over Percival’s lap, head lying back over the arm rest. ‘Post-breakfast cuddling’, he started calling in his head, words he never expected to string together in such a bizarre fashion to label one of the many new developments in his life.

It’s all so domestic in a way that he only thought to have after finding marriage or something of similar commitment. It also feels domesticated, and he tries not to let that bother him because both the brothers have full control of their faculties and can make their own conscious decisions. And they decided to stay. Every now and then, though, he wonders _why_ , because their answers make more sense to them than himself.

“Thinking too loud again, Perce,” Theseus mutters from the side. “Finish your paper.”

Newt hums in agreement.

Percival rolls up his paper and smacks both of them.

 

 

The second time he wakes up, he’s on his back on the floor by the couch; too warm, a bit sore, and left leg gone numb. Because Newt is using the thigh as a pillow lying perpendicular to him and Theseus is pressed to Percival’s other side, an arm tossed over his chest, both weighing him into a surface too hard for his aging body.

On the other hand, he feels immensely lazy like grazing livestock. Or a cat, he supposes, snorting quietly at the irony. Sleep, eat, sleep, repeat. A roll of his head to the side shows empty mugs by the sofa legs, another roll the dying fire in the fireplace. Merlin, he wants to get up but doesn't. But he should, because he needs to go to the restroom.

There's movement from Newt, the man turning over and ending up at his hip. It's rather close to his crotch which is just plain awkward and Percival tries to shift his leg somehow to change—

An involuntary noise escapes him at the sudden sting of blood rushing back into his leg and then Newt is opening his eyes and lifting his head.

“Y’kay, Percy?” he mumbles, voice low and husky with sleep.

Percival steadily breathes through the near unbearable tingling as he wriggles his toes, waits a few seconds before he asks, “Could you get up.”

Unfortunately, Newt doesn't get up right away; makes a noise of protest, in fact, and tries burrow in—

“ _Newt_ ,” Percival strangles out, leg jolting involuntarily and forcing the man off.

He sits up abruptly waking Theseus in the process, and glares down at Newt blinking confusedly up at him. In his disorientation, he nearly blurts out _bad cat_ , but manages to stop in time and shakes his head to clear it. Even now, he still has the occasional trouble with responding appropriately, whatever that entails when it comes to these two.

“What’d you do, Newt,” Theseus—now on his back and scratching his chest—says around a yawn.

“Nothing,” Newt responds uncertainly, the word sounding more like a question than an answer.

Percival shakes his head again, this time in confirmation. No point in bringing attention to a problem that never really, hm, _arose_  in the first place. He doesn’t normally have such responses even while pressed to either of them like they were a couple minutes ago, so it’s safe to say that the close call was entirely a physiological reaction to the direct proximity and nothing more.

“Bathroom,” he mutters and stands up just fine, leg having regained all sensation.

After straightening his robe around himself, Percival heads out of the room.

Two weeks since Grindelwald’s capture and they’re no closer to breaking through to the dark wizard regarding his intentions for New York much to their frustration. Just as he is no closer to defining the unusual nature of his cohabitation with two shape-shifting brothers, a far lesser concern. Newt and Theseus are as physically affectionate if not more since Percival allowed them back and he has become quite accustomed to it. While it’s never sexual, each casual and not-so-casual touch satisfies something deep within him.

That isn’t to say he’s removed from sexual desires completely; accidents like earlier and another time are telling factors and there are days that he thinks about it (‘alone time’ being out of the question since he lives with beings that have keen senses of smell, a fact that he curses sometimes). But he hasn’t the heart to seek that sort of company in another’s arms while feeling happily committed or instigate anything with his friends without any emotional basis for such activities. Their human forms are attractive, certainly, aesthetically-speaking; however, the capacity of his feelings for them don’t extend that way.

And it’s hardly an issue of being different species; he lives in a world where anything is possible, after all, even more so behind closed doors. People can be very discreet when they need to be, both in private and public.

(But let it be known that such discretion matters not when it lands you in trouble with the law enforcement. Percival has seen some strange things even by his own open standards and consensual cross-species anything is relatively on the mild side. Except for that one proposal involving a wizard and half-werewolf couple going wrong because they overestimated the power of their love and the moon won, the idiots.)

What he ponders, then, is if there is a ‘yet’ somewhere in this constant introspection and analysis. And whether he should explore the question of potentials and possibilities.

Which brings him right back around to his initial thought: he doesn’t know.

Sighing, he finishes up his business and washes his hands. He opens the bathroom door to find Newt right outside it, might have startled if he wasn’t used to these sudden appearances. Arching a brow, he waits.

After a few seconds of fidgeting, Newt opens his mouth. “Um, Theseus started dinner. He might need some help.”

Percival frowns. Is it that late already? And Theseus in the kitchen sounds like a recipe for disaster.

“You seemed a bit tired today, slept a lot,” Newt continues hurriedly, “so he thought we’d help. By the way...” The man looks down and to the side. “Are you upset with me? I know we—I can be a bit annoying—”

Bringing a hand to Newt’s arm stops him from rambling and he tentatively meets Percival’s eyes. Whatever he sees loosens the tension from his shoulders and he comes when Percival tugs. Percival curls his other hand around the back of Newt’s neck and kisses the side of his head.

“It’s fine, Newt,” he says as he draws back. “I really had to go, that was all. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, not at all; that was my fault,” Newt replies, visibly brightening with a wide, relieved smile, and then nuzzles his cheek along Percival’s.

“Alright, we should go stop your brother from burning my kitchen down,” Percival says, patting his head.

Newt pulls away and grins. “It won’t come to that.” The grin drops. “Actually, I think I smell—”

They rush to the kitchen to find Theseus at the counter—a carrot atop a cutting board in front of him—glaring down at one of the kitchen knives and holding up a bleeding finger.

“ _Merlin_ , Theseus,” Percival groans, reaching him in a couple steps. “What did you do?”

“I’m alright, Percy, it’s already healed,” the man mutters down at the knife with a frown. “This looked easy when you did it.”

“Yes, and you make jumping ten feet high look easy but that doesn’t mean I will attempt it myself,” Percival responds dryly, grabbing a clean kitchen towel to wet it then wipe away the blood.

“Told you, you should’ve waited,” Newt pipes in, looking over Percival’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Theseus retorts.

Percival presses the towel firmly into Theseus’s hand and eyes them both. “How about you _both_  shut up? Theseus, go toss this in the basket and help Newt set the table. I’ll finish this.”

Dinner is ready to be served in half an hour with the help of some magic: a simple but hardy meat and vegetable stew. Everyone sits at the table to eat and after the first few savoury bites, the chatter starts. Their conversations mostly involve Percival or one of the brothers talking about something and the other asking many questions regarding the topic as they’re still learning about one another. It’s by far the most care Percival has ever taken to know anyone.

“Will you be free next weekend?” Newt asks at some point.

“I can’t say for sure,” Percival replies. “Why do you ask?”

“I wish to go visit some of your reserves for the creatures.”

Percival gives him a curious look and Newt meets it head on. He glances over to Theseus who only shrugs, then turns back.

“You humans have a terrible shortage of resources regarding them and they’re full of misinformation. It’s quite appalling,” Newt finishes with a huff.

“I... see,” Percival says, though he doesn’t.

“Newt—and myself, to a certain extent—sympathize with species in worse situations than ourselves: endangered, isolated, hunted,” Theseus speaks up. “When we travel sometimes, we try to look out for them the best we can. Didn’t walk much in towns and cities, of course, even though they were in the most danger amongst civilization.”

“We couldn’t, really; it was dangerous for us, too,” Newt continues. “But now we know someone, here, who won’t hurt them. Us.”

“So you came here to use me,” Percival sniffs, crossing his arms.

Newt falters. “Well, no, never—it’s just that—we—”

“I’m only teasing,” Percival cuts in with a smile, surprised at himself. “That’s very noble of you.”

“Percy!”

And Percival can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him at Newt’s face; it’s cute. “If nothing urgent comes up, then we can go next weekend and you can tell me everything that’s wrong with it.”

“Really?” and it’s even funnier how quickly the man’s expression changes.

“No, god, of course not,” Percival replies. “The ‘everything’ part, at least; you might never stop.”

“That is true,” Theseus nods.

“You are a pair of arseholes,” Newt grumbles, and Percival laughs again.

They finish eating and clean up, then have post-meal drinks with snacks. It's the most relaxing weekend Percival remembers having in years, lounging at home all day which is something he has rarely done even as a child. As the conversation dies, he thinks to pull out a book to read but Newt and Theseus get up.

“We’re going out for a walk,” Theseus groans while stretching. “Do you want to join us?”

Shaking his head, Percival gestures for them to go ahead but also gets up so he can let them out. He walks past them as they strip to shift and they slide against his legs as they already catch up and run by to wait at the door.

Percival watches them go until they disappear. He doesn’t worry for them, not like the average pet owner who fears that something terrible might befall the animals. Because they’re magical beasts in their own way, far more powerful than their forms indicate and have yet to reveal the full extent of their abilities.

As for him, he returns to the sofa and sprawls on it like an old man, even summons a book to him instead of getting it personally from the shelf. Hard to say whether this laxness is a good thing or bad thing. He manages a chapter and a half before his eyes start to close and despite valiant efforts, he’s dozing off by the seventh or eighth blink.

Until they scratch at the door.

Percival groans and rubs at his eyes but he’s unconsciously smiling, and he re-ties his robe again while dragging his feet to the entrance. They leap on him as soon as the door opens and Percival staggers a bit from the force of their combined weight, narrows his eyes and frowns.

“Thank you for stepping all over me with your dirty paws,” he lightly scolds them.

But Newt licks his cheek and Theseus purrs against his neck and really, what’s the point, Percival thinks.

He carries them to the bathroom, puts them on the counter and washes their paws, realizes with some surprise it’s already late at night and time for bed (which is ridiculous because all he did was sleep and he doesn’t think he can anymore). Merlin, the day feels completely wasted according to the productivity-driven aspect of his mind yet...

Newt and Theseus sit patiently next to each other by the sink and Percival holds out a towel in front of them so they can dab their paws dry. He looks down at twin feline faces, ears flicking and whiskers twitching, and his chest tightens with something inexplicable.

His home and heart are so full that the loneliness that used to reside in them can no longer fit, so what is a single day of inactivity in the face of such a gift?

Besides, it’s only Saturday; there’s always tomorrow to do his laundry.


End file.
